


in the dark you will make me strong (like you've always done)

by for_within_the_hollow_crown



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 19:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11470464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_within_the_hollow_crown/pseuds/for_within_the_hollow_crown
Summary: "It's going to be alright," Fitz tells her. He tries to sound reassuring, but his voice comes out matter-of-factly, as if the roads in front of them weren't two but just one."You think so?""One way or the other." Fitz pauses and takes a deep breath. “You're the smartest person I know.""So you admit it," Jemma jokes, her voice light and teasing. She's smirking now and speaks with some of the cheek he knows too well."Admit what?""That I'm the smartest."(Fitz & Simmons + things you said in the grass and under the stars)





	in the dark you will make me strong (like you've always done)

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song [home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81abAJao-cs) by Lena which is also the song that is mentioned in the fic.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

It's late May and the days are just starting to carry some of the heat that is going to reach ghastly peaks in the upcoming months. A hot summer has already been announced. A novel-like heat, Fitz's mother would say, that kind of heat that goes to people's heads and makes them irritated and foolish at the same time. That kind of heat that makes the will to do anything but lying in bed - window blinds and windows closed, air conditioner on - disappear. The kind of heat that is equally unbearable during day and night time. It's the same heat that causes a layer of sweat to deposit itself on skin, gross and sticky, drops of it running down foreheads and necks, drenching clothes and causing them to stick against people's bodies - uncomfortable, inescapable, unbearable.

The hottest summer in years is approaching and the news is announced by everyone with a great deal of certainty in it - wheatear forecasts, newspapers, strangers and friends: it's on everyone's mouth and spreads like wildfire from person to person. It should start the following week, in a fortnight, at the beginning of summer - the number of days varies according to the source and is, in most cases, enhanced for emphasis. But the gravity of this so much talked about announcement has yet to show and appears distant in time; it's small talk that loses itself and becomes irrelevant in front of mild mornings, warm afternoons, and fresh evenings. The only drastic changes of temperature occur around dinnertime when the temperature drops and the air cools, consequentially requiring the use of a jumper both inside and out.

Now, a soft breeze is blowing causing the air to appear fresher than it actually is. It makes strains of hair dance around Jemma's face, touch her skin and thus providing a ticklish sensation - fixing her ponytail is as useless as pushing her hair behind her ears so she leaves it be, getting accustomed to the feeling and overlooking it. The wind by passing by also causes the leaves on the trees in the backyard to rustle gently - branches move just slightly and leaves move up and down, touch with the ones close to them, making the trees appear alive in their just perceptible and constant movements.

The rustling of leaves is a soft noise that interrupts the otherwise silence, and, barely audible, it has something calming about it, nature at its best, and lifts itself into the air and mixes with the noise of lonely cars driving past the house and dogs barking in the distance. There's birds too, chirping as they sit on rooftops or antennas - indistinct figures in the dark - or on branches, hidden by foliage. Out of sight, their presence is announced only by their voices and the noise of wings beating - quick movements that cause the trees to shake a little more, before the birds lift themselves and fly away. From the house next door muffled voices and the sound of the opening theme - which Jemma is sure she has heard before but whose show she cannot recall -  can be heard too. It all intertwines and creates a pleasant cacophony of sounds, light and relaxing. It's the sound of late spring night, of a world that already appears to be sleeping, of words not breathed in fear of interrupting the general stillness that is both grounding and contagious.

Jemma and Fitz are both lying on the recently cut grass. The blades of it, still in an acceptable length, are bent under the red squared duvet and create an outline around its borders, like a natural and infinitely small fence - green lines with some lonely daisies are bent to the side and are unpleasant to feel on naked skin, causing hands to be retrieved so as to hold them closer to their sides or resting on their stomachs. Their knees are bent, trapezoidal shapes against the garden's scenery, the small and barely visible lints create an uneven outline of their trousers in the pale light that comes from the porch. Hands are kept inches apart, at a distance, contact unnecessary and unwanted, and the duvet's fabric is soft under their palms, consumed in some points it causes the grass and the earth to be felt more.

A sense of stillness has long settled in and now pervades them completely. All words and the need for them abandoned, sentences getting shorter and short before becoming completely unnecessary - the presence of the other person beside them much more important and precious in the late hours of the evening. A feeling of being outside time and space, the world frozen and asleep, unchanging, that could not be described and had to be enjoyed in silence by the two of them both - lying there so, so awake and so, so alive, with their hands touching and their hearts beating, minds emptied of all worries and thoughts tuned down. How distant in time appeared their afternoon's restlessness and how quickly had they been freed of it, proving their own convictions wrong. Peace and serenity, and tranquillity too, could be found again. Hope could be found again too and bad thoughts could be dismissed.

They can, contrary to all expectations, lie there and just look at the stars, take a breath and a break and be pervaded once more by an easiness and elation that up until that moment had appeared to be lost; and all there is, is silence and regular breathing - chests raising and falling ever so slowly, deep breaths and air coming inside and outside their lungs, the spring air filling their nostrils with a smell of grass and flowers. Poignant and crisp, pleasant with harsher undertones, it is a smell of hope, a clean smell, fresh and lively the smell of freedom, of infinite possibilities and of new beginnings for a life that had been stuck for years.

Jemma stretches out her arm and raises her hand, the jumper that was already falling too large on her frame and the sleeves that were already folded thrice slides down her arm and stops at the height of her elbow - she doesn't fix it, leaving the skin exposed and enjoying the feeling of fresh air on it, and points at the sky above them. It's clear and studded with stars, the vision of it impaired only in close proximity to the threes that are nothing but dark figures, all irregular edges, that tower themselves against the night sky. The moon, partially covered by some lonely clouds, shines bright and its light filters through the trees' leaves and branches creates an intricate pattern of dim light.

"What's the tune?" Fitz asks as Jemma points at the stars, moving her finger, connecting distant points with invisible lines, never stopping, going back and forth.

"I don't know, really. I've heard it at the radio the other day and forgot to check," she pauses and takes a deep breath, the air leaving her nose with a sharp sound. "It was quite sad, to be honest, yet ever so lovely. And it reminded me of- well, of a lot of things."

"In a good way?"

"In a good way."

Silence falls again, there's the noise of hidden insects and Jemma's humming - guttural and out of tune. Fitz turns his head around to look at her, her profile in the dark, studying the way she just looks completely lost in her thoughts as if she herself was miles away, watching the scene from far above, allowing her feelings to resurface and stay shielded from reality of things and the insecurity that it inevitably brings along. What's going on in that head of yours, he wants to ask, but fears to invade her privacy - he can guess, some feelings have been there for years and have been talked about over and over, without ever reaching a clear point, but doesn't want to. That Jemma looks calm and almost happy, no tears in her eyes, no fidgeting movements with her hands, is more than enough anyway.

It's a complete transformation from that morning and afternoon, when they had sat in her living room watching some old reruns of a show they used to watch weekly at The Academy. Her head resting on his chest and his arms around her shoulders, holding her close and tight; He can't tell how much she actually followed of what was happening on screen and he's pretty sure that she silently cried at least once - her eyes always closed whenever he looked down, avoiding any sort of confrontation. A pretense of happiness, of things being all right, that has now been dropped completely.

"We haven't done this in years," he finally says. His voice is soft and his Scottish accent heavily slips through, there's a hint of nostalgia for times gone by and for a distant past that once slipped through their fingers at lights speed. "I've missed it."

Memories of their time at the Academy, the summer holidays spent together with either of their families, fill their minds. Those memories of complete and utter happiness, filled with innocence, and carrying a wish for life always to be like that - always summer, always alone, always feeling on top of the world. They were theirs and yet, those people, now appeared like strangers.

"Me too," admits Jemma, as she turns around and smiles at him. It's a heartwarming smile, a genuine one, that brightens her face and softens her features - above all, it's a smile that reaches her eyes and is filled with softness and fondness.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And in our defense we've been quite busy and then- life happened." She pauses and looks at the sky again. "I'm glad you're here today. The other day, Daisy asked me if I needed anything - a voice on the phone, some company, a shoulder to cry on - she said, and I quote, that she would have cancelled her plans with Lincoln, that I just had to say it."

"Jemma-"

"No, I'd have wanted her here. I'd have invited everyone, but it seemed out of place. No, that's the wrong word. I'm afraid I haven't been such a great company, I've been feeling odd and sad and angry all day. Scared to death too."

"There's no need for explanations, they all understand."

"Do they now? Maybe, but you're the only one who's always been there, since the very beginning, which means you know so much more and there's no need for explanations. Wait, that came out wrong again, if there's one person on earth I wanted to be with today, that's you. It will always be you. In fact, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else with anyone else."

"Jemma Simmons and Leopold Fitz contra mundum," he joked.

"Contra mundum. You're my best friend in the world and I do love you. Quite a lot, in fact, and no matter what happened in the past."

That has always been a certainty, even in the darkest times the incapability of letting go of each other had remained. Beneath the horror and the trauma their past selves have always shined though the cracks, binding them with a past that appears strange and unfamiliar; they surface in the smallest of gestures, a fifteen year acquaintance that cannot be destroyed and comes down to one single truth: they know each other as well as they know themselves. Old habits and attitudes hard to let go - they are like open books.

And there is Jemma, lost in her thoughts again. She's hurting and they both know it. She's hurting and it comes out from the way her mind seems elsewhere, from how she had clung to him that morning - her head buried in the crook of his neck and her arms wrapped tightly around him -, from the way her voice sounds broken when conversation becomes to personal, from the way she keeps playing with the ring around her finger. It comes and goes in waves, but it washes over and oozes out with some of the strength of the early days. There's a parting point in front of them, both of them know it, and it's the double answer that could come from it that scares her.

"You know," Fitz says as he feels his fingers reach for her hand, hers cold in his, fingers slowly lacing in a reassuring grasp. "My mom used to say that you should always make a wish while looking at the stars, because once in a while they come true."

It's a silly affirmation and he had stopped believing it before he turned ten, and yet there was something fascinating and intriguing, beautiful even, to believe that sometimes such an indifferent universe would somehow influence it inhabitants for the better.

"That sounds quite lovely."

"It does, doesn't it?"

"I guess we both know what I'd wish for."

He nods.

Their lives, Jemma's especially, moved on like that of millions of others, and yet what she's been wishing for years, starting from the day the fine equilibrium between physical pleasure, work, domestic duty and time for solitude had been found - a desire everlasting and unaltered, made stronger in the past months - still stands. For things to turn out right, for life to resume, for calculations to be correct. An end to a limbo made of not knowing that had lasted three and a half years (forty-one months, but who's counting Jemma had once yelled at Coulson in an outburst of anger). For the pale and ceasing conditional, for that string of hypothesis that sometimes bound her to two different places at once, to finally wear off and leave space to nothing but reality and certainty. Sometimes he wishes the same.

"Who knows if the information we were given is correct-"

"It's going to be alright," Fitz tells her. He tries to sound reassuring, but his voice comes out matter-of-factly, as if the roads in front of them weren't two but just one.

"You think so?"

"One way or the other," Fitz pauses and takes a deep breath. "You're the smartest person I know."

And maybe, he wants to add, there's love, but when did that ever solve anything? When did love ever fix things? Where, oh where, does love conquer all? Him and Jemma had once really liked each other, they had been friends for years by that time, and then they had dismantled their relationship as unspoken resentments had begun to grow, until there was no mutual comfort, no touching, no love. There was no need to look further than that  to realize that all they could rely on were the calculations and the information that they had gathered.

"So you admit it," Jemma jokes, her voice light and teasing. She's smirking now and speaks with some of the cheek he knows too well.

"Admit what?"

"That I'm the smartest."

Fitz starts to laugh and Jemma soon follows. Carefree and crystal clear, it forms at the back of their throats and bubbles up, coming out in complete freedom as their minds yet again turn to the past and the shared rivalry that has long disappeared. It's a joke and an attempt to cheer her up, but there's an enormous satisfaction on Jemma's side to having heard Fitz speak those words out loud - an old debate finally settled.

"Only," he adds, "because you used to love homework more than life itself."

"Oh really? Because you were such a sun kissed person back then, weren't you?"

"Not this again, please."

"And I'm pretty sure that, but for some months, you've always been stuck in a lab beside me. At The Academy, at Sci-Ops, at SHIELD. You've been beside me the whole damn time."

"And I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."


End file.
